


Fab Five Feb: John

by LadyRazorsharp



Series: Fab Five Feb [1]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Bad Decisions, Boston Red Sox, Comfort Sex, Emotional Baggage, Fencing, Leukemia, M/M, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Name Calling, One Night Stand, Phone a friend, Relationship Advice, Smoking, sex with the ex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: Inspired by a prompt from @gumnut-logic's Fab Five Feb--five prompts for five brothers. This set features our beloved ginger space noodle!
Relationships: John Tracy/Original Characters
Series: Fab Five Feb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682164
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Fab Five Feb: John

AN: This idea’s been rumbling around in my head for ages...we’ll see how it goes. This references characters and events from ‘Stabbed,’ ‘Betrayal,’ and ‘Manhandling’ (in that order) in Thunderbirds: Whumptober 2018.

Fab Five Feb: John

Prompt: Paper

  
  


_What have I become_

_Looking through your phone, oh no_

_Love to you is just a game_

_Look what I’ve done_

_Dialing up the numbers on you_

_I don’t want my heart to break, baby_

_How do you sleep when you lie to me_

_All that shame and all that danger_

_I’m hoping that my love will keep you up tonight, baby_

_How do you sleep when you lie to me_

_All that fear and all that pressure_

_I’m hoping that my love will keep you up tonight_

_\--Sam Smith_

His phone rang, but it wasn’t a number he recognized, so he let it go.

It rang again, and his brows drew together. Nope, still a wrong number.

It rang a third time, and he rolled his eyes; whoever it was, they were a persistent little shit. “John Tracy,” he barked, hoping the acid in his tone would discourage further interruptions of his studies.

“John?”

Just his name, said by _that_ voice, was enough to make the breath catch in his chest. “Tyler?”

A quiet chuckle. “Guess I should be glad you remembered.”

John felt his blood turn to ice. “What do you want?” he growled.

“Just to talk.”

John scoffed. “I don’t know what _about._ Your actions were pretty clear to me the _last_ time we talked.”

“Yeah, I know.” A sigh. “Look, would it be okay if I just came over? I really need to talk to you.”

“Why don’t you talk to--what was his name? Matt? You know, _the guy you were cheating on with me?”_ John shook his head. “Goodbye, Tyler.”

_“Matt’s dead.”_

The leaden one-two punch of those words hit John in the solar plexus, and he sat back on the sofa, stunned. “Wh...what did you say?”

“Matt...he was sick. He had leukemia. He died.” There were tears in Tyler’s voice, which immediately plunged John into a queasy soup of mistrust and sympathy. “He _died,_ Johnny.”

Deciding--for the moment--to give his lying, cheating ex-boyfriend the benefit of the doubt, John drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry. When?”

“Two weeks ago. When you and I...uh...broke up last year, he found out he was sick right after that. He was--” Tyler’s voice choked off, and John realized the other man was sobbing.

“Tyler--” John sighed, running a hand through his copper flick and letting it flop back over his right eye. “Just come over. I’m still in the same place.”

“Thanks.” A hiccough and a sniffle. “I appreciate it.”

“Be careful.” The old expression of care and concern slipped out before he could stop it.

“I will.”

John hung up and let the phone fall to the sofa beside him. Groaning, he raised his hands to press them against his face. God, he did _not_ need this, not _now,_ not _ever._

In the year that had passed since he’d sent Tyler out of his life, the torn edges of his heart had finally scarred over, thanks to long talks with his father and listening to the antics of his energetic little brothers. Virgil, still at Stanford, had made a point to check in with a weekly phone chat. Scott was still deployed overseas, but John had written to him of the breakup, and had been grateful to receive the brotherly wisdom contained in Scott’s letters. 

_I’m sorry it didn’t work out,_ Scott had written in his precise military script. _Don’t jump into something right away, though. Take your time and figure out what you really want in a relationship._

John chuckled to himself. He’d taken Scott’s advice to heart--but that hadn’t stopped him from having a one-night stand with a guy he’d met in a bar two months after the breakup. 

He leaned back on the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling fan as it lazily churned the cool air. Stone Martin--”not a stripper,” the man had assured John when they met at a Boston dance club--had a beautiful body and a talented mouth, as well as a straightforward approach to life. They’d made no promises to each other the night they spent together, and simply enjoyed the giving and receiving of pleasure. “You’re straight up _starving,”_ Stone had observed, and he’d been right; that night, John had craved not only the release of sex but the plain animal closeness of a warm and willing body.

_Warm and willing?_ A smile ghosted across John’s face as he closed his books and jogged his papers into a neat pile. _More like scorching and shameless._

The morning after their encounter, John had woken and stretched like a feline who’d rolled in a surfeit of catnip--only to have some of the bliss edge off when he found himself alone. However, Stone wasn’t a bounder; the touching note he’d left did much to reduce the sting of abandonment, though John had never taken him up on the invitation to call him at the number scrawled on the cream-colored paper. He’d kept the note tucked into his leather-bound journal and taken it out from time to time to reread the short message, but mindful of Scott’s warning, he’d never followed through.

John picked up his empty coffee cup and breakfast plate and carried them to the kitchen, wondering what would have happened if he’d called Stone a week or two after their torrid encounter. Would they have gone to dinner, hung out at each other’s houses, caught a movie? Would they have discovered they were compatible outside the bedroom? He could see Stone in his mind’s eye, sitting at the table and sipping coffee while John stood at the stove, making breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning. Smiling at the cozy mental image, he put the dishes in the dishwasher. Would they have fallen in love and even now be making a life together? It was impossible to say.

He went into the bedroom to exchange lounge pants for jeans, and the sight of his bed--where he and Tyler had lingered only hours before it all went to hell--put a cold spike through his heart. With the reminder of past hurts came the realization that everything could have gone the opposite way with Stone; they could have found each other tedious and annoying, with nothing in common except the ability to screw each other’s brains out. Granted, there was something to be said about being ‘friends with benefits,’ but John wanted more than just a good lay.

And now the man who he had once thought was the entire package--good looking, fun to be with, and damn good in bed--had come crashing back into his life, dragging a massive amount of emotional baggage in tow.

He cast a glance over to his laptop. Would it make him a complete and total asshole if he looked up Matt’s obituary? Tyler had kept his relationship with Matt a secret for over a year; who was to say that he was telling the truth now? Maybe Matt had dumped him on his ass and this was the only way to even approach getting back together with John? Tyler had lied to Matt too, giving him a story that he was visiting his deathly ill ex in the hospital, when in truth he would have been celebrating his and John’s first anniversary.

“This is fucked up,” John spat to his silent apartment. “So _incredibly_ fucked up.”

Nevertheless, the invitation had been extended, so there was nothing for it except to wait and see what transpired. John sighed and went to make some coffee--and then changed his mind and got down the teapot. This situation called for chamomile, and as John filled the electric kettle, he hoped his hands had stopped shaking by the time he had to pour.

A knock sounded on the door, and John looked up from where he’d been perched on the edge of the sofa for the last fifteen minutes. He wiped his palms on his jeans, then stood and crossed the room on stocking feet and opened the door. Tyler stood on the other side, his eyes downcast. “Hi,” said the visitor, his greeting aimed somewhere around John’s ankles.

John was heartened to see that Tyler was mostly the same as he’d been the last time they’d seen each other: Dark jeans with just the right amount of distressing; mahogany lace-up boots; grey henley; aged mocha leather jacket. However, the clean-shaven face had lost some of it’s boyish charm in the past year, and the skin under his eyes was stained with violet. “Hi.” He stepped back and swung the door wide. “Come on in.” When Tyler had entered, he shut the door behind them and headed into the kitchen. “Have a seat; I’ll be right back.”

When he came back into the room carrying a wooden tray set with the teapot, two mugs, and a plate of shortbread cookies, Tyler was still standing in the middle of the room, fiddling with his sunglasses. John set the tray on the large hassock he used for a coffee table and ducked to look into Tyler’s face. “You okay?”

The broad shoulders shrugged. “Not really.” Tyler slipped his sunglasses into his inner jacket pocket and palmed away tears. “It’s been really hard.” He managed a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Jay.”

John nodded and gestured toward the couch. “Likewise, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” They sat, and John busied himself with the teapot. “Here,” he said, handing Tyler a steaming mug. “That’ll warm you up.”

“Look at you,” Tyler said. “Being all hospitable and shit to the guy who ripped out your heart and stomped on it.” He gazed down into the pale yellow liquid in his mug. “You haven’t changed.”

_You’d be surprised,_ John mused silently. “Thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you.” He took up his own mug and sat back on the sofa. “You’re right, you’re _not_ okay.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be right again.” Tyler squeezed his eyes shut. _“God,_ I miss him.”

Despite his own skepticism, John couldn’t ignore the cry of a soul in pain. He reached out and gave Tyler’s arm a brief squeeze. “Did you meet Matt at school?”

“No.” Tyler opened his eyes and took a sip of tea, then held the mug between his hands. “Matt was ten years older than me. My dad was his mentor when I was growing up.” He chuckled softly. “Back then, Matt was like a big brother to me; he would take me to get ice cream or to the dollar store when I got my allowance. He went camping with us a few times, and he was always there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He had a bitchin’ car, and he had tons of Red Sox memorabilia in his apartment. I loved the way the place smelled.” Tears gathered in Tyler’s eyes. “Like his cologne.”

“I see.” John took a sip from his mug, trying to stay relaxed and open to encourage Tyler to keep talking. He thought he might be succeeding, because after a moment, Tyler blinked away the tears and continued. 

“When I was in middle school, Matt stopped coming around. Dad told me Matt was busy, but one night I heard my parents talking about him. They were glad that they wouldn’t have to worry about him ‘influencing’ me anymore.” Tyler took another sip from his mug. “I already knew I was gay, although I didn’t come out until high school. I put two and two together, and after I came out, I asked my dad about Matt. Dad wasn’t happy about it, but he confirmed my suspicions.” He snorted. “Then I had to reassure him that _no_ , Matt didn’t _do something_ to me to, quote-unquote, ‘make me gay.’” He shook his head. “Now _there’s_ a conversation I don’t ever want to have again.”

John clamped his hands around the mug in his lap. “I can see where you wouldn’t.” He drummed his fingertips against the stoneware, choosing his words carefully. “So, somewhere in there he went from an exiled family friend to someone you could cheat on.”

Tyler winced. “I guess I deserve that.” He set the mug back on the tray and twisted his fingers together. “I caught up with Matt while he was picking up a pizza, of all things.” He pursed his lips in thought. “This was...the summer I turned nineteen. I hadn’t seen him in years, so I ditched the friends I came in with and went over to say hi.” Tyler smiled in fond remembrance. “When I told him who I was, he didn’t believe me at first. ‘All grown up,’ I told him. He agreed, and made some comment about how he was sure I was breaking all the young girls’ hearts.” 

John snorted into his cup, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I know. Talk about barking up the wrong tree.” Tyler gave an awkward laugh. “When I clued him in, he got real quiet. I thought I’d offended him, but then he smiled and said he’d been thinking about me coming out to my dad, when _he’d_ never been able to do that. Made me pissed at my old man all over again.” He waved the words away. “Anyway. He got his pizza and invited me back to his place so we could catch up. I didn’t think anything about it; this was _Matt,_ my buddy, my idol.” He glanced up at John, then back down at his hands. “We talked almost till dawn. Then when I was about to leave...he kissed me. It wasn’t creepy or anything, it just...happened.” Tyler swallowed noisily. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be _like_ him. After that kiss, I just wanted to be _with_ him.” He settled back onto the couch with a heavy sigh and put his hand over his eyes, rubbing them as if the tale had given him a headache. “So there you have it.”

John set his empty mug on the tray and folded his arms across his chest. “What I don’t understand is: If you two were so obviously meant for each other, what am _I_ doing in the middle of everything?”

Tyler blew out another long breath and stared unseeing at their mugs and the untouched cookies. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Fencing tryouts.” John closed his eyes, seeing Tyler, lithe as a greyhound in his body-skimming whites, against the darkness of his eyelids. “Junior year.”

“Right. I wanted to go to school in California, but if I went to MIT, my dad said he’d be willing to pay for it. Matt told me I would be an idiot to turn it down, and he was right.” He shrugged. “Everything was going great. Then one day, I met a gorgeous redheaded boy with the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.” He gave John a lopsided smile. “I fell in love with you so hard, I kept checking for bruises.”

Though he felt his cheeks warm at the compliment, John shook his head. “ Again: _Matt?”_

“He didn’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

Tyler gave John a _look._ “Would you believe I’m damn good at keeping secrets?”

John looked away.

“Plus, I think that Matt halfway wanted me to find someone my own age; he was always telling me he was too old for me. I guess I took him seriously for a while.” He smiled sadly at John. “We had a great year, you and I.”

His throat aching with unshed tears, John gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. We did.” He cleared his throat and sat forward to refill their cups. “You said that Matt found out he was sick--”

“Right after we--yeah. A few weeks after, anyway.” Tyler sipped from his renewed cup and wrapped his hands around the warm stoneware. “He’d been losing weight for a few months--not all at once, just a few pounds here and there. One day I saw him as he got out of the shower and I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.” He shook his head, brows meeting as if he were steeling himself against a painful blow. “He was _covered_ in bruises. Not only that, but I could see his ribs.” He shrugged. “Matt was never really bulky; he was tall and rangy.” He gave John a tiny smile. “Sort of like you. Nice shoulders and a cute ass.” 

_“Ty--”_

“I know, I’m getting off the subject again.” Tyler replaced his half-full cup on the tray. “Like I said, if he took off more than a few pounds, it was noticeable; he didn’t really have it to lose. He hated going to the doctor, but I told him I’d go with him so he didn’t put it off.” He closed his eyes. “There were _so many_ tests. He never complained.” He opened his eyes, letting huge tears roll down his cheeks. “They gave him six months. He lived for ten.”

John was silent. He stared into the depths of his cup, feeling hollow and ineffective. “I’m sorry,” he said, but Tyler went on as if he hadn’t heard. 

“The night before he died, he was so sweet. He’d been in a lot of pain, so I hadn’t been able to do more than hold his hand for a long time. That night, though, he said he was cold and asked me to lie next to him. I held him and we talked for a while...then he said he was tired and that he was going to sleep for a while.” Tyler’s face crumpled. “I woke up at midnight...and he was gone.” He curled into himself, his body wracked with sobs. “He was gone, and I just--”

In an instant, John had set his cup aside and reached out to draw Tyler into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, holding tight. “I’m so sorry.”

In a few minutes, the sobs had slowed enough to allow speech, and John could see that Tyler was trying to collect himself. “I didn’t mean to--” he choked out, but John shook his head.

“It’s all right. Here.” John scooted over to kick his feet up on the sofa’s chaise, and pulled Tyler over to lay against his chest. “It’s all right,” he repeated. “Just breathe.” He caressed Tyler’s scalp with his left hand and kneaded the taut neck muscles under his right. “Just breathe.”

In a few moments, John felt Tyler’s body begin to relax. The shaking stopped, and the sobs slowed until they were infrequent hiccoughs. Then those too subsided, and soon Tyler’s chest rose and fell in the easy rhythm of deep sleep.

John let go of Tyler’s neck and reached for his laptop. It took a few minutes, since he was working one-handed, but eventually he scrolled through all the local obituaries for the last two weeks. Finally, he came to the photo of a man who looked like the personification of the blond, blue-eyed, ‘baseball and apple pie’ American ideal. His smile was wide, as if the photographer had caught him just about to laugh. His tee-shirt and jeans rode his trim frame with ease. He looked like someone who made friends wherever he went, someone who encouraged others to be their best selves.

Or, John mused, the kind of man who could be a young boy’s role model, until that boy grew up enough to fall in love with.

Suddenly, John felt dirty. Whatever kind of a villain he’d imagined Matt to be, the man smiling out of the photo before him wasn’t it. With guilt crawling along his spine, John read the tribute below the picture.

  
_Matthew Zane Stewart, 36, lifelong resident of Boston, went peacefully to his rest on March 3rd after bravely battling acute myeloid leukemia. Matt will be remembered by those who loved him as a die-hard Red Sox fan, a lover of good beer and juicy steaks, and a tireless champion for young people. He is survived by his father Frank, his sisters Claire and Carla, and his beloved companion Tyler. He was preceded in death by his mother Nora and grandparents. At Matt’s request, no services will be held; instead, he asked that people honor his memory by spending quality time with children. Donations may be sent in lieu of flowers to the Boys and Girls Club._

John stared at the photo for a long time, hot anger building under his breastbone at how his happiness had been bought with a lie. If Matt had ever known what Tyler had done, there would be no mention of a ‘beloved companion.’ How _dare_ Tyler swoop in to be the tragic left-behind lover, when all he’d done was lie to Matt’s face?

He should wake him up, John thought. He should wake him up, snarl it all out in a fit of well-deserved rage, and then throw Tyler out on his ass. Let him cry his crocodile tears to the next sucker to cross his path.

_You’re like your mother, God rest her,_ Jeff had said after the breakup. _She took people at face value. It blew up in her face a few times, but she never changed._

John sighed and closed his laptop, his fingers still smoothing Tyler’s hair. He wondered if Matt had been that kind of person too, never suspecting that Tyler was lying because someone he loved would never do such a thing. Whatever the situation had been, John was glad that Matt had died knowing he was loved, even if that love hadn’t always been pure. _Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,_ his mother’s prayer echoed in his inner ear. _May perpetual light shine upon him._

Movement woke John from a light doze, and he shifted as Tyler uncurled himself. “Hey,” John said quietly, as Tyler came up blinking. “Did you have a good rest?”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler blurted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked like you needed the rest.” John didn’t exactly smile at him, but he felt his expression soften. “Are you hungry?”

Tyler blinked again, confusion in his eyes. “I should go,” he muttered. “I’m sorry to have bothered you with this.”

“You didn’t bother me. Surprised me, yes, but you didn’t bother me.” John stretched and laid a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Really. It’s been nice to see you. I’m glad you told me about Matt. He sounds like he was a good guy.”

“He was the best.” Tyler sighed. “John, I’m...I’m sorry. I did you so dirty. I was a coward and I ended up cheating on both of you.” His gaze lowered to the floor. “I never told Matt about you. I was going to, but then he got sick and I just...couldn’t.”

“It’s in the past. We can’t change the past, for better or worse.” John nodded. “Although I appreciate the apology, and I accept it.”

Tyler returned the nod. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not hungry.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I actually _wanted_ something to eat. I usually just choked something down because Matt told me to.”

“Well, I’m going to fix myself something--nothing fancy, maybe an egg on toast or a grilled cheese--and you’re welcome to join me.” John stood and moved into the kitchen. “I can make you a smoothie if eating seems like too much work,” he called, reaching up to retrieve a saute pan from the hanging pot rack.

There was no answer from the other room.

“Ty?” John turned around with the pan in his hand--and ran straight into Tyler. “God! There you are. You startled me.” He lowered the pan to his side. “You all right?” he asked, taking in his ex-lover’s odd expression. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll see if I’ve--”

“I need _you,_ Johnny.” Tyler raised his hand and brushed his fingertips along John’s high cheekbone. “I’m so lonely, I feel like _I_ could die, too.”

“You’re scaring me, Ty,” John breathed, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck. “You’re not saying you want to...do harm to yourself, are you?”

“No.” Tyler shook his head. “Matt made me promise that I would keep going. He said I’d find someone else to love.” He smiled sadly. “Maybe he knew about you--not _you_ specifically, but maybe he sensed I had someone in my life, and hoped I’d continue on with them.” He threaded his fingers through John’s hair, resting his palm against the freckled cheek. “All I know right now is that I need you. Please, Johnny.” He swallowed noisily. “Please?”

John let the pan slip to the floor, and he heard the clang and clatter it made against the tiles from far away. Without a word, he reached up to take Tyler’s hand in his and led them into his bedroom.

  
  
The lights from the street below were just coming on when John awoke, pinned beneath Tyler’s heavily slumbering frame. It took a moment for the memories to come rolling back, but there they were: The kisses; the touches; the clothes falling to the floor; bodies responding to hungry hands and mouths. Their mingled cries echoed in his ears: desperate pleas for more; a hot litany of _don’t stop don’t stop oh God please don’t stop;_ torrid moans and gasps that set them both ablaze. Pleasure blotted out the pain of abandonment, the darkness retreating with the fiery brilliance of need. Higher and hotter they burned, until there was nothing left but smoldering ashes.

Now John lay contemplating the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to Tyler’s gentle snores, his body aching with the aftermath of sex so rough, he hesitated to call it _lovemaking_. The torn wrappers on the nightstand were the only proof that they’d managed to stop long enough to use condoms, but for the life of him, John couldn’t remember putting one on. A thought occurred to him, generated by the sight of the nightstand, and he shifted slightly to reach out and slide the drawer open. Beside him, Tyler slid off his chest and curled up against his side, his snores pausing for only a moment before settling back into the slow rhythm of sleep. 

John reached into the drawer, and in a moment, his questing fingers withdrew his prize: A pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a cheap lighter. He shook a cigarette out of the pack, tossed the pack back into the drawer, then flicked the lighter and took a few puffs to get the burn going. He replaced the lighter and shut the drawer, then took the cigarette from his lips and let out a long stream of smoke. He watched the smoke curl against the ceiling, trying to recall the last time he’d had a cigarette. 

After Jeff had quit when the boys were small, smoking had been classified as a mortal sin in the Tracy house. Despite this prohibition, John knew for a fact that Virgil had a taste for the occasional cigar. Scott had admitted to picking up the habit from his Air Force buddies, though neither he nor Virgil dared to smoke around their father. Gordon was on a quest for an Olympic gold medal, and didn’t even allow himself the odd cheeseburger, much less a cigarette. Alan had recently proved that he was too bad of a liar to get away with sneaking a cig from his grandmother’s stash. However, they would all have been scandalized to know that every now and again, John indulged in a smoke, usually when he had something heavy weighing on his mind.

To John, this situation definitely qualified as ‘heavy.’ His ex-boyfriend, reeling from the death of his beloved, had crashed back into his life. He shouldn’t have taken Tyler to his bed, but that ship had sailed. What was more, being with Tyler felt like coming home. Last year, after the hurt and anger had turned to numb acceptance, he’d tried his best to put Tyler aside, but some nights he ached to be held. His solo sessions had always ended with him crying out Tyler’s name, imagining it was his lover’s hands that touched him instead of his own. 

He wasn’t over Tyler. Not by a long shot. He’d told himself he was, but here was the truth, curled beside him, their mingled scents rising from the tousled sheets. He took another drag and watched the grey ribbons unspool in the twilight.

He needed some time to think. Gently, so as not to disturb Tyler, John slid out of bed and dug in the drawer for the cigarettes and lighter. His fingers brushed against a soft leather surface: his journal. Maybe putting his thoughts down on paper would help to sort them out, he mused, so he grabbed up the volume and closed the drawer. He laid the items on the dresser long enough to pull on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt against the cool evening air, then took everything into the living room and settled himself on the chaise.

His favorite pen was strapped to the journal’s cover, so he withdrew it from its holder and uncapped it. His ashes needed attention, so he grabbed his abandoned mug from the tray and tapped off the excess. Afterwards, he sat with the journal open on his lap, cigarette in his left hand and pen in his right, and stared at the blank page. Unfortunately, his thoughts were going so fast that they refused to be pinned down at the end of his pen, and after a few minutes he closed the book, sighing in irritation. As he did so, the motion dislodged a folded piece of paper from inside the front cover, and he picked it out. 

_Dearest Johnny boy,_ he read, and with a shock, he remembered: Stone. He unfolded the paper and read the rest of the short missive, eyes scanning down to the phone number written there. Stone was--well, not a completely neutral third party, but close enough. His father and his brothers might not have much sympathy for Tyler, since he’d hurt one of their own, but Stone on the other hand…

John grabbed up his phone from where he’d left it on the sofa earlier, and crushed the cigarette out in the dregs of the tea. His hand shook slightly as he thumbed the numbers. Would Stone even remember him? Would he have the same number? What would--

“Stone Martin.”

“Uh--” John swallowed and glanced behind him at the bedroom door. It was still closed, and there was no sound from the room beyond. “Uh, hi. St--Stone?”

“That’s me,” said the smooth voice on the other end. “Who’s this?”

“Hi. Listen, you might not remember me, but this is John. John Tr--uh, John Glenn. Like the astronaut?”

There was a beat of silence before Stone spoke. _“Spaceman,”_ he breathed. “Ginger-haired Johnny boy with the green eyes, _holy shit._ Hang on--” The next words were muffled, as if he’d put the phone against his chest. “Hey, I need to take this, be right back.” The ambient sound died away, and there was a click of a door closing before Stone came back on the line. “Okay, I’m back. How the hell are you?” He chuckled. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten ol’ Stone-not-a-stripper.”

John laughed softly. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any chance of that. You were pretty memorable.”

“I’m flattered. I think.” John had forgotten how deep Stone’s voice was, how it started shivers along his spine. “Seriously, John. It’s good to hear from you. What are you up to these days, you’ve got to be done with school, right?”

“I’m starting my Ph.D. in September,” John informed him. “Physics.”

“Wow, damn. You gonna be a real life rocket scientist?”

“That’s the goal.” John shifted the phone to his other ear. “Listen, the reason I called…” He trailed off, searching for the right words, but Stone stepped in with a ready supply.

“Lemme guess: You didn’t just call to catch up.”

“No, I didn’t.” John ran a hand through his hair and let it fall back over his forehead. “I need your help.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Must be serious, for you call _me_ up. You in some sort of trouble, Johnny-boy?”

“I don’t need bail money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. You don’t need to see if I’m a match for a kidney or something, do you?”

John snorted. “No, but if I hear of someone who needs a kidney, I’ll keep you in mind.” He sighed. “Do you remember me talking about my ex? I might not have said anything about him to you, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Just a few words,” Stone replied. “Only that you’d been seeing someone and the breakup had been, in your words, a ‘spectacular disaster.’ _That_ I remember.” He cleared his throat. “Why, has ol’ chucklefuck been sniffing around again?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” John glanced over his shoulder at the door again, but it was still closed. “He showed up at my house today--well, he called first, and he said he needed to talk to me. My first instinct was to hang up on him--”

“--but you didn’t.”

“No.” John blew out a long breath. “He told me his boyfriend died two weeks ago.”

“Shit, that’s brutal. Is it true?”

“Yeah, I looked up the obituary. I feel like an asshole, but I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t lying to me.”

Stone let out a long, low whistle. “Damn, spaceman. So what happened?”

John closed his eyes. “He was here for a while, and he told me the story. He was a mess and I just let him cry it out.”

“You’re a good guy, Jay. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you in his life at all.”

“Thanks.” 

“So…” Stone let the vowel slide down into nothing.

“So...I ended up taking him to bed.”

Silence reigned again at the other end of the line. “Okay.” The word was flat, but had a ‘go on’ twist at the end.

John leaned back on the chaise, fingers twined in his hair and gripping hard. “I missed him, Stone. That’s my only excuse.”

“Okay, hold up: Did you miss _that man_ in particular? Or did you just miss _companionship or sex in general_ ?” Stone laughed mirthlessly. “It’s not a crime to be lonely; I think you and I figured that one out but good. What _is_ messed up is seeking those things with someone who’s already proved unreliable. Your ‘spectacular disasters,’ if you will.”

Feeling frustration and shame making another queasy mixture in his belly, John snorted. “It was partly missing him; he and I had a good time together--though the good times don’t seem so good now that I know what was going on underneath.” He sighed heavily. “I just let my loneliness get the better of me, I suppose. And I really am sorry for him; it hurt seeing him in so much pain.”

“That’s kind of you, but it’s not your responsibility to fix it,” Stone countered. “Yes, we’re supposed to sympathize with people who are hurting, but--John, love, this man has already proven himself toxic to you. Don’t let him do it to you again--because he will.” Stone let out a ragged breath. “Trust me on that one. And it’ll be worse because now he’ll have the extra weight of his dead boyfriend behind him. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but your ex would be the bastard here, not letting the poor man rest by bringing him up every time he wanted to make you turn to.” He paused. “I dunno. Am I making any sense here?”

“You are,” John assured him. “A great deal of sense. Every time I’d think about letting him go, he’d remind me again that Matt was gone and I was his only port in the storm, as it were.”

“And if he’s cheated once, he’ll cheat again. Do yourself a favor and stay away from any more ‘spectacular disasters,’ Johnny-boy.”

John smiled to himself. “I should have called you sooner, Stone. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Me too,” Stone replied. “Maybe we could have made a go of it.”

John kept his next words gentle. “You’re seeing someone?”

There was a longer pause. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. He’s a really good guy.” Stone chuckled. “Sort of like you.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

There were a few heartbeats of silence on the line, but John cleared his throat first. “Well listen, I just needed to talk for a few minutes; I’ll let you go.”

“You needed a second opinion? The old ‘phone a friend’ option?”

“Something like that. Advice from a neutral party.”

Stone laughed. “Hardly neutral, spaceman. I could have fallen for you in a heartbeat, given the chance.”

John let Stone’s image come to life in his memory: The froth of bleached hair falling over his forehead; the muscular shoulders; the slender waist and sweet curves beneath. “It was good talking to you.”

“Same here.” All the teasing left Stone’s voice. “Take care of yourself, love.”

“I will. You too.”

John hung up and stared at the blank screen for a few moments, then put the phone on the sofa and went into the bedroom.

When he opened the door, Tyler was stirring sleepily, stretching and yawning in the rectangle of light falling over the bed from the living room. “Hey,” he gritted. “What time is it?”

“It’s 8:30.”

Tyler rubbed his eyes. “Damn. You wore me out, lover.” He gave John a sultry smile. “I’m starving,” he said around another yawn. “Wanna get something to eat?”

John shook his head. “No. You need to go.”

“What’s--”

_“Tyler.”_ John kept his voice even. “You need to go.”

The other man sat up slowly. “You’re kicking me out?” He snorted. “Just like that?”

“You’re no good for me, Tyler.” John felt his insides quaking, but he stood his ground. “I’m sorry Matt’s dead, but you need to move on.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes. _“For your information,_ that was what I was attempting to do.”

“No. You can’t move forward by going backwards.” John stooped to collect Tyler’s clothes. “Now please, just get your clothes on and go.”

A bitter laugh spluttered from Tyler. “You _son of a bitch,_ you’re the one who took _me_ to bed, and now you have the audacity to tell me to leave? You’ve gotten your rocks off, and now you can just kick me to the curb?” He grabbed his clothes from where John had dropped them on the bed and began to jerk them on. “You’re _ice cold_ , you know that, John Tracy?”

“I’m sorry,” John replied, letting Tyler’s fury wash over him like a wave. “This was a mistake.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, you cold-hearted bastard.” Tyler shoved his feet into his boots and didn’t bother lacing them up. “You probably should have put a revolving door on this room since I’ve been gone, huh? You slutty ginger cum dump.”

John stared at him, knowing his turquoise irises had gone as glacial as a polar sea, but he said nothing. He could imagine what would happen if he rose to the bait: A heated argument; a tearful breakdown; and a round of make-up sex, only to be repeated ad nauseum. _No thank you,_ he said silently as Tyler found his jacket and pulled it on. He could endure a little name-calling if it meant finally being free of this toxic part of his past.

“Oh and by the way,” Tyler spat, “Don’t think I’ll be calling you again. _Ever.”_ He stormed out of the room, stomped through the living area, and slammed the door without looking back.

John stood in the bedroom doorway, feeling the proverbial dust settle for a few heartbeats before he let himself sag against the frame. He buried his face in his hands and let the grief and pain and longing roll over him one last time, then lowered his hands and straightened. Moving to the living room, he collected the pack of cigarettes, the lighter, and the journal, and went to deposit them back into his nightstand drawer. The paper with Stone’s writing on it fell open in his hand, and once again he read the words. _Dearest Johnny boy…_

He reached into the drawer and withdrew the lighter, then took both into the bathroom and flicked the lighter into life. He lit the edge of the paper, then tossed it onto the floor of the shower and watched it burn. When it was nothing but ashes, he washed it down the drain.

“Goodbye,” he murmured.

-End-


End file.
